


Study

by theleaveswant



Category: Penny Dreadful (TV)
Genre: Awkward Relationships, Drinking, Early Mornings, F/M, Implied/Referenced Blow Jobs, Obsession, Pre-Canon, Victorian weirdness, inherently wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-25 01:18:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3791236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theleaveswant/pseuds/theleaveswant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A brief interlude between Vanessa and Sir Malcolm, pre-series 1.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Study

I returned to Sir Malcolm's abode close to dawn, shivering slightly, my hair, skin, and clothing decorated by a chill mist somewhere between fog and rain. Sembene awaited me in the foyer. "Sir Malcolm wishes to show you something," he informed me, and left me to make my own way to my unlikely benefactor's favoured study.

"Ah, Miss Ives. Come in." It was perhaps fortunate that all the lamps were lit and glowing, much as the fierce brightness assaulted my night-adjusted eyes, for the light was more than ample for reading and Sir Malcolm had clearly been engrossed for some time. Then, too, there was a shallow remainder of some amber liquor in the crystal glass before him, so perhaps his bloodshot eyes were owed more to pouring than to poring. "One of my agents in Buda-Pesth has uncovered the most intriguing compilation of documents. Come and have a look."

I crossed the room toward him, removing my gloves as I did so. He held an age-stained letter of introduction up for my perusal, and I leaned in close to read it. "Is this genuine?" I asked.

Sir Malcolm cleared his throat. I turned my head to look at him and noted that although he'd become accustomed to physical proximity in the last weeks, carried himself less stiffly in my presence, his spine in that moment was drawn taut as a bowstring. I believe I managed to keep the smile from my face as I leaned in closer, lips parted, my breath between them carrying the sharp smell of semen to his nostrils.

My eyes held on his face until he yielded to the challenge and met them with his own, icy and blue. Go on, I dared him, or the wickedness inside me did. Go on, you old lech, and shake me, take me, push me away. Do something to dispel the murk roiling with building fervour around our acquaintanceship throughout the short span of our cohabitation. What am I to you, who do you want me to be?

His eyes narrowed, dark with fury, and for a moment I feared I'd won--but then he offered me the glass. I drained the last mouthful slowly, a masterful performance, but Sir Malcolm's attention was once again elsewhere. "As far as my agent could determine, yes. The provenance is sound."


End file.
